Say Anything
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: A determined group of superstars have 60 days to figure out the reason behind Randy's suspension, which could prove difficult, since he's equally determined not to tell them anything. Featuring Randy, Trish, Dave, Triple H, Stephanie, John, and Maria.
1. It's NOT My Fault

**Say Anything**

**A/N: Just a quick note about this one - not sure where the story itself came from, the inspiration was a combination of my emotions over the Orton suspension, and hearing the song "Say Anything" by Good Charlotte. The chorus of the song says "Don't walk away. I know you want to stay. Just give me a sign. Say anything, say anything." And that got my creative juices flowing. And this is what I came up with. **

**Disclaimer: As a writer of WWE fiction, I've always found that delving into the Orton psyche was one of the most interesting - he's cocky, he's brash, and he's oh-so-pretty! And while I am going to try to avoid any personal commentary on the whole illusive suspension situation, I couldn't help but try to get into the jack ass's head and figure out what's going on. I am, in no way, offering this as some sort of understanding! Heaven knows I don't own him, know him, or really want to at this point in time. But writing is the best way I know to sort out my feelings and thoughts, and this is my offering on the subject. I hope you enjoy it.

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**

His lips trailed over her flat stomach, descending lower, seeking what he had been missing for nearly two weeks.

"Dave," Trish breathed, her hands on the back of his head as he moved his kisses even lower.

The muffled sound of electronic music played from somewhere in the background. "What is that?" Dave asked, raising his mouth just slightly from her skin.

Shaking her head, Trish closed her eyes and bucked her hips slightly. "Doesn't matter. Ignore it," she sighed. It had been nearly fourteen days since she had last seen her fiance, and she would be damned if a mistimed telephone call was going to interrupt them now.

But when the sound persisted long after the call should have gone to voice mail, Dave sighed and sat up. "I don't think they're giving up," he whispered.

Rolling to her side, Trish grunted and took the phone from her purse beside the bed. "What?"

"Trisha!" His exuberant voice made her roll her eyes as she struggled to sit amongst the piles of blankets and pillows. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Save it, Hunter," she spat.

"Nice to hear your voice, too, Pumpkin," he continued to goad her with his condescending tone.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as Dave's lips curled in the beginning stages of a smile. "What do you want?"

"Let me talk to Dave," Hunter commanded, as though she had no choice but to do what he said.

"Call his phone," she responded, her voice dripping with attitude.

"I tried," Hunter explained. "But unlike you, he turns his phone off when he doesn't want to be bothered."

The smugness in his voice made her want to throw the phone across the room. Instead, she extended it toward Dave. "It's your best man," she sighed, as though the prospect of this irritation on the phone standing up in their wedding was the most disheartening thought she could imagine.

Dave took the phone and settled against the headboard with Trish, weaving his fingers through hers. "What's up, man?"

"They suspended Orton," was the answer from the other end of the phone.

Dave chuckled slightly. "So?"

"So, it's indefinite," Hunter said seriously.

Dave's face dropped slightly. It wasn't that he was surprised. More surprising than the suspension was the fact that the punk kid had avoided it until now. But that didn't mean that he was happy about it. Sure, Orton was annoying as hell sometimes, and it was hard to find his redeeming qualities when he was having an infamous "I'm better than you" fit. But they had been friends once upon a time. And he was good for business, whether the Board would admit that or not.

"Damn," Dave breathed, running his hand over his head. Sometimes he hated that Hunter ever taught him the "business" side of things. Sometimes he hated that he could look at a situation like this and understand why, even when most of the locker room didn't want the kid around, they all needed him.

"I know," Hunter conceded.

"It's awful, man," Dave agreed, running his hand up Trish's bare thigh. "Can I get back to fucking my girlfriend now?"

She giggled as he winked, but Hunter wasn't amused. "Dave, this is serious," he reminded.

"What do you want me to do, Hunter?" he asked, a bit of a chuckle in his voice. "You want me to go over there and beat him into submission? Make him write "I will not be an asshole" fifty times on the blackboard? What am I supposed to do, man?" He shook his head. "He's gonna have to figure this out on his own. Orton's an adult now."

Trish couldn't help the snort and giggle that escaped her throat. "Kinda," she mumbled.

With a look and a slow smile, Dave put an arm around Trish's shoulder and pulled her to his side. "Ya know what, Hunter? I think I know someone he might listen to."

Her hazel eyes grew wide as she shook her blond locks. "Oh HELL no," Trish protested as Dave said good-bye to his friend. When he reached across her body to drop her phone back in her purse, she smacked his chest. "I'm not gonna. . . No. . . David, no," she shook her head vigorously. "I'm not doing it. I refuse."

"Trust me, I'm just as shocked as you are," Trish stated as Randy opened the door of his St. Louis condo to the tiny Canadian.

"The only thing that surprises me," he started with a cocky grin as he stepped aside and invited her in, "is that it took you this long to come crawling back to me."

Fighting the urge to smack his face, Trish let herself into the living room she had once known as well as her own. "Where's the wife?" she asked, looking around for signs of Randy's live-in fiance, Samantha.

He moved to the kitchen. "Running errands," he answered over his shoulder.

She watched him from the living room as he opened the refrigerator, withdrew a beer, and popped the tab. He took a long drink, his blue eyes holding hers steady. _I don't fucking care how much I love Dave. I will fucking kill him for making me come here. Fucking. Kill. Him._

"So you're the one they chose?" Randy asked finally, pushing off the kitchen counter and making his way into the living room. Seeing her standing in the middle of the floor, staring at him with a blank look on her flawless features, was a little bit surreal. It was the exact same look she'd had the last time she had been there, when he had asked her to leave his house, and his life. "You're the one who's supposed to talk some sense into me?" He laughed sardonically. "You're the great white hope?"

Trish turned on her heels and watched Randy flop onto the couch, his expression hardened even as his eyes danced with mocking laughter. There was a time, in the not so distant past, when she would have dropped everything for him. She would have bent over backwards to do whatever he had asked of her. There was a time when he was like her little brother, a time when he was more. And then there was now.

"What happened to you?" she asked, the question tumbling over her lips without so much as a second thought. When he rolled his eyes, Trish put her hands on her hips, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. "And don't tell me this is how you've always been. I know you, Orton. Better than you think I do. And this bratty kid you're running around as lately is NOT who you were!"

Leaning back on the couch, Randy turned his head to the side and considered her for a moment. She was right. Something had changed. He hadn't always been this way. But he'd be damned if he told her, of all people, what the problem was. As far he was concerned, it didn't matter who he used to be.

After a long silence, Trish shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "So that's it? You're not gonna say anything? At all?" With a pout and the shake of his head, he folded his arms. "Dammit!" She had determined to walk in there, let him know that people were worried, and then walk out. She wasn't supposed to be feeling anything.

"Orton, do you realize that you're in serious jeopardy of losing your job here? That Vince is about ready to just throw you out on your ass? It doesn't fucking matter who your grandfather was. Or who your father is. He's going to fire you if you don't get your shit together."

Randy slowly nodded and lifted his beer can to his lips again, still silent. Though his eyes remained unaffected, his thoughts were spinning. He didn't want to lose his job. And he didn't want this scar on his reputation. But sometimes he couldn't have what he wanted. And it was that realization that had started this whole mess in the first place.

"And you don't care?" He shrugged again. "And you're going to sit there and tell me that you don't fucking care? That everything you've wanted your whole life is slipping through your fingers, and you don't give a fucking shit about it?"

Seeing her anger brought a slight twitch of a smile to his lips, something he hadn't intended. But the way her face reddened when he grinned gave him a sense of satisfaction that he couldn't quite explain. She had been so apathetic toward him lately, acting as though she could give a shit less about him every time she saw him. Knowing that he still had the ability to elicit a reaction from this Trish gave him a charge.

"Randy, we're not talking about losing a fucking after-school job at McDonald's. This is your dream. And don't you dare tell me it's not that big of a deal to you," she pointed angrily. "I have seen your heart. I have seen what wrestling means to you. And you can pretend all you want that it's not that big of a deal. You can fucking pretend that you don't fucking care. And you can strut around like you're being persecuted and that you'll rise above it.

"But we both know it's fucking killing you inside," Trish nearly shouted. "I have seen you push yourself to the brink of insanity trying to perfect your move set. I've seen you push yourself to the brink of exhaustion to make appearances and shows and interviews. I know this means something to you."

She stopped ranting to take a breath, keenly aware that he had yet to offer any kind of explanation for his behavior. She was aggravated that she had allowed any emotion for him push her over the edge. And she was frustrated that she couldn't seem to get through to him. But more than anything, she felt her heart breaking as she watched him, endless wasted potential encased in his young physique. The possibilities for him were unlimited. All he had to do was straighten up and see it.

Defeated, she threw her arms up and let out a long sigh. "You don't wanna talk. I get that," she shook her head sadly. With one last pained look, she bit her lip and watched as his eyes met hers. "Just tell me this," she whispered. "Why?"

With a sardonic chuckle, he stood and ran a hand over the top of his head. "You know why, Trish," he finally spoke, moving to the kitchen to toss his beer can. When he returned, he found her standing in the same place, staring at the floor. "I think it's time for you to go," he nodded toward the door.

Trish looked up, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. "This is not my fault," she shook her head and spoke, her voice cracking slightly. "I didn't do this to you, Randy."

He shrugged again and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You're right. It's not your fault. I should actually be thanking you for what you did."

"I didn't do anything," she insisted, the anger beginning to rise again. "And if you're pissing your entire life away because I chose Dave over you, you're more pathetic than I thought," she added, moving slightly closer. "You are engaged to a great woman. I have a fantastic man. We are not a part of each other's lives anymore. By your own choosing, if I remember correctly. If you lose your job over us? You deserve the unemployment line."

Stepping toward her, he ran a hand up her arm and smirked. "You still feel it?"

Trish jerked her arm away and shook her head. "I never felt it," she hissed the lie through clenched teeth. There had been a time when his smile and his touch had sent butterflies fluttering in her tummy. But those times were over. And she wasn't about to open the old wound again.

"Liar," Randy whispered, moving even closer and pulling her toward his chest.

She wiggled from his grasp and shook her head. "No, motherfucker, I don't feel a goddamn thing." Incensed, she turned toward the door. "And you wonder why I chose him," she muttered.

"I do wonder," he said, his tone strangely sincere.

So strangely that Trish whipped around, her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I wonder every day what Dave has that I don't. Why he's the one you chose to be with."

She sighed and watched as he sat on the couch and ran a hand over his head again. "Oh, we are so not having this conversation right now," she laughed cynically. After everything he had said to her, he now wanted an explanation?

"Alright, fine," Randy threw his arms up and sank back into the couch. "You want honesty? You want me to say something? There was something between us, and we both know it. Something that went way beyond friendship." Now it was her turn to be deathly silent. "And I still don't understand, to this day, why you turned your back on that for him. On me."

On legs moving of their own volition, Trish moved to the chair closest to her and sank onto the edge, her elbows on her knees as she twisted her fingers together. "I can't believe this is happening," she started, licking her lips and meeting his eye. His eyes were vulnerable for the first time in months, and she felt like he deserved the truth for once. "Dave and I were already together when you told me how you felt about me," she reminded.

"I know that," he said. "But I also know that you weren't in love with him yet. Not like you were with me."

Nodding, she bit her bottom lip again and tried to think of how to explain the situation. "I did love you. I still do, I think, in some ways" she admitted. "And I really thought about everything you said that night. The night you told me that you loved me, and that you wanted to be with me. I couldn't sleep for a week, thinking about everything you said, everything you promised.

"But what you wanted was a friendship with benefits. You weren't ready to give me the commitment I was ready for," she sighed and blinked back tears quickly. "I'm still not sure you're ready for that," she added.

Trish felt her heart drop to her toes when Randy stood and walked out of the room. They were both moving on, both about to marry other people. But his eyes reflected a heart break she hadn't been expecting. Tears flowed over her cheeks as she realized that she did still care about him. She wasn't in love with him – her heart belonged to Dave now. But she still cared about the kid who had not-so-long-ago been her best friend.

Randy returned in less than a minute, motioning for Trish to stand. "I wasn't ready for a commitment?" he asked. She kept her eyes to the ground as he took her hand and pressed something into her open palm. "I think it's time for you to go back to your husband now."

Trish tucked her hair behind her ear and squeezed her fist tighter. On numb legs, she moved toward Randy, who was standing by the front door to once more usher her out of the house. "Tell Dave and Hunter that I appreciate their concern, but I can take care of myself," he said, his voice low. "And Trish?"

She didn't even try to hide the tears as she looked up. His crystal gaze was filled with pain, confusion, hurt, and anger. "Randy," she started, everything inside of her wanting to reach out and hug the agony out of his eyes.

But he put a finger to her lips. "For the last two years, I have worked through injuries and accusations and complete bull shit to earn main event status and promo time. I have busted my ass to get what I want, to feel like I'm good enough, and I keep getting the shaft. I've done everything I could possibly do, and it's not enough." He shook his head and stood, beginning to push the door shut. "If getting fired means I don't have to watch someone else take what I want?" His eyes turned cold again. "I'll take the unemployment line."

As the door clicked shut, Trish opened her palm, another round of tears coursing down her cheeks. He spoke of his career. But the diamond ring in her hand spoke volumes about a man who could no longer watch someone else with the woman he had loved.

After a long moment of soul-searching, Trish opened the mailbox and laid the ring inside. She felt bad for him. His heart was hurting, and for that, she was sorry. But her conscience was clear. His recent behavior was not going to change the fact that their time had passed, and it wasn't going to win her back. She might have broken his heart, but he had brought himself to this place on his own.

And until he figured that out, she couldn't help him. No one could.


	2. It's NOT About Her

**Say Anything**

**A/N: So, this story was originally only supposed to be a OneShot. But since I fucked up and forgot to tell you all that, and so many of you reviewed saying you couldn't wait for more, I decided to try to move on with it. I can't promise that the story will be very long, or that the updates will come super quickly, since I have no outline and am only writing it as an idea pops into my head, but I hope that's still okay. **

**You know I don't own any of the WWE Superstars, right? Okay. So Enjoy!

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For Randy, things seemed to go from bad to worse after his suspension. Not that he would willingly admit it, but Trish's surprise visit the week before had thrown him into an emotional tail spin. Not to mention the fact that Samantha had nearly gone through the roof when she checked the mail, and found the ring that Trish had left behind.

Tired of beating holes into the drywall of his unfinished basement, Randy decided to head out to the basketball court to try to pound out some aggression. The sun was high in the St. Louis sky as he sat on a courtside bench to lace his sneakers. If this didn't work, he was going to commit himself. He was losing his mind, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

A long shadow fell over his shoe as Randy lifted his blue eyes and squinted against the sun. "What the hell do you want?"

Smirking, John Cena took a seat beside his friend and shrugged. "I've missed you, too, Sunshine," he smiled.

Rolling his eyes, Randy continued tightening his laces. "Not really in the mood for another pep talk, Cena. Sorry."

"Good thing I'm not here to pep talk then, huh?" John asked as he grabbed the ball between them and began to twirl it on his middle finger.

Randy's eyebrow shot up in surprise as he leaned back against the bench. "You're not?"

"Hell no." John shook his head and stood, dribbling the ball between his legs a few times as he looked around at the peaceful city park. "For three years now, Randall, I have come to this court every Wednesday for only one reason. To kick your ass one-on-one," he smiled and shrugged. "That's not gonna change just because said ass has now got a 2x4 wedged up it."

Randy stood and rolled his shoulders. "There is nothing up my ass. God!" he gasped, wishing to hell that everyone would just leave him the hell alone.

"Settle down there, Napolean Dynamite," John responded. With another knowing smirk, he tilted his head. "Thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"I don't," Randy pouted.

Tossing his friend the ball, John stepped into the lane and waited. "Then stop running your fucking mouth and take the ball out, Princess."

Two hours, a whole lot of cursing, and buckets of sweat later, John and Randy finally took a breather. Plopping onto the courtside bench, they each reached into their bags for bottles of water, sitting in silence as they gasped for much-needed air.

The silence proved too much for Randy, though. And rather than wait for John to bring up the elephant in the room, or on the court, he decided to attempt some sort of conversation. "How's Maria?"

John smiled instantly at the thought of his girlfriend. "Good," he nodded. "Not your biggest fan, but she's good," he added.

Randy rolled his eyes and took another drink. "Guess I kinda deserve that."

"Kinda? Dude, you called her an empty-headed, worthless waste of space," John argued.

He couldn't deny it. Randy had said the words in a fit of anger when John, Dave, Hunter, Maria, Trish, and Stephanie had first approached him about his attitude. It wasn't her fault, but she was the quietest, and she quickly became his target that night.

"At least I didn't call her a cu--," he started to mutter.

But John raised a hand and shook his head, his eyes closed as he seemingly tried to calm himself. "Man, I beg you to stop talking. Please?" Turning to Randy, he shot his friend a glare. "Before something irreversibly stupid comes out of your mouth."

Again, they fell into an awkward silence. And, as if his mouth needed no permission from his brain, Randy found himself bringing up the one subject he absolutely did not want to talk about. "Trish came to see me last week."

John nodded. "I know."

Though it bothered him that all of his former friends seemed to be conspiring to "fix" him, Randy couldn't say that he was surprised. "Of course you know."

With a shrug, John collected his thoughts and leaned back on the bench. Lifting his water bottle to his lips, he stretched an arm over the back of the seat. "Man, you got balls." His eyes drifted over the court as he shook his head. "Not a lot of brains. But balls." After another drink, he added, "Professing your love to her when she's engaged to the Incredible Hulk? Takes some grapefruits."

Randy huffed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I didn't profess my love," he insisted.

"Whatever you did, it upset her, man," John informed the oblivious young man to his left. "Which means it upset Dave."

"I'm shaking." His voice was arrogant and dry.

This was exactly the kind of conversation John had hoped to avoid. He had known that it would come up, but he had secretly been hoping that he would arrive in St. Louis for their weekly pick up game, and Randy would have miraculously changed into a thoughtful, caring, repentant human being.

He had known it was a lofty fantasy, but John was Randy's closest friend. If anyone had a prayer of getting through what the kid was really thinking, and rooting out the source of the problem, it was Cena. "Maybe you should be," he stated easily.

Randy chuckled and gave John a disbelieving look. "Dude, he's just Dave. We've known him for years. It's not like he's a raging lunatic or anything."

John nodded in concession. "He's not going to hurt you physically, Randy, because he doesn't have to. But he's not the Dave we came up with, either, man. He's a political player now. He knows people. He has powerful personal connections now." He took another drink and spoke matter-of-factly. "You piss him off? You're gone."

"Word has it I'm already gone anyway," was Randy's only response.

Not sure which direction to take the conversation, John went with his instincts. "That what you want?"

Shaking his head, Randy leaned back and stared at the playground on the other side of the court. "Doesn't matter what I want. You know that."

Without warning, John found himself getting pissed. Maybe it was the fact that this thing had been going for too long. Maybe it was because he was busting his ass to do everything he was supposed to do while Orton pissed and moaned about how he wasn't being treated fairly. Maybe it was the fact that their tight-knit circle of friends had become strangely divided over the entire ridiculous situation. Or maybe it was because Randy actually seemed resigned to being suspended indefinitely from the job he claimed to love. But whatever the reason, John was tired of placating the immature Legend Killer.

"So that's it? You're just going to tuck tail and run away? Quit before they can fire you?" Sarcastically, he added, "Or, I know! Why don't you just act like a royal pain in the ass until they have no choice but to fire you? Yeah, that's it. That way you can pout around and act like you've been severely mistreated without ever having to address the fact that it's time you fucking grow up!"

The crimson color creeping into John's cheeks would have intimidated a lot of other people. But Randy knew him too well to get worked up over his outburst. "What do you want me to do? Start crying like a pussy and beg for mercy? You know that's not gonna happen."

John shook his head incredulously. "You really ready to lose your career over a woman?"

Randy felt like he was repeating himself for the millionth time. It was the same argument he'd had with Samantha at least a hundred times in the last six days. "It's not about her," he started the routine response.

"Bull shit, Motherfucker!" John cut him off before he could launch into the whole rehearsed speech. "It's always about her with you. Everything in your world is about Trish Stratus."

Feeling like he had to share some shred of honesty, Randy nodded. "Maybe before," he started again.

But John wasn't done talking yet. "No, man! Since the day you met her, you have been running in circles like a fucking hamster on a wheel to make her notice you, to make her love you. You have done everything humanly possible to make her want you, and it hasn't fucking worked, Orton. Because guess what, man?" He dropped his water onto the ground and turned his body toward his friend. "You can't make somebody fall in love with you. And to end your entire career, to drastically alter the course of your life because you can't fucking have it your way? That's the most childish, immature, asinine, ridiculous bull shit I have ever heard!"

If there was anyone who stood a chance of drawing Randy's real feelings out, it was John. But Randy wasn't ready to share yet. So he did what he always did in these situations. He changed the subject. Or altered it to a course he was slightly more comfortable with. "My career is not over, man," he assured easily, rolling the basketball over the asphalt with his foot. "Even if Vince was dumb enough to fire me, there are other promotions."

"Motherfucker, think," John said, leaning forward slightly. His shoulders were tense, and he was arguing as though children's lives were at stake. "You're one of the most talented wrestlers in the world. You're a marketing wet dream come true. Bottom line? Randy Orton puts asses in the seats - most of them female, which is an untapped fan base for most promotions." He knew that he sounded like a board member now, but John was reverting to two nights earlier, when he had been arguing with Dave and Hunter about the future of Randy Orton.

"So what's the problem?" Randy asked finally.

"This shit that's been going on lately?" He sighed and leaned his head back, running his hands over his face before meeting his friend's crystal gaze with a hardened one of his own. "With your reputation like it is right now, nobody wants to take a chance on your attitude. Nobody else has the cash that Vince has. They have to earn it. And bringing you in to piss off another locker room and create a hostile working environment is not a risk they're willing to take. You're not exactly a highly-sought-after recruit right now, soldier."

Unwilling to admit that John could actually be right, Randy shrugged. "Maybe I'll just go a different route for awhile. Maybe it's time I get out of the business all together."

This time, John laughed. For as long as he had known Randy, the kid had never mentioned a Plan B. Being a third generation superstar was all he wanted. There was no "different route" for Randy Orton. "Where you gonna go, Brain Trust?" he asked, still chuckling. "Back to the Marines? Train some circus monkeys? Maybe you could get a job at the zoo and clean alligator shit for a living?"

"I don't know, man. Sam and I talked about taking some time to travel. Maybe I'll do gondola tours in Venice." He gave John a withering look and then shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just have to wait and see what shakes down. I mean, as far as I know, I'm still employed for now."

Nodding, John stood and hitched his duffle bag over his shoulder. This was the part of the afternoon where they were usually still trash-talking, making their way to the corner pub, where the loser would buy drinks and they would chill like best friends until their girls called, wondering where they were. As much as he hated to wax nostalgic, John was wishing for one of those afternoons more than he cared to admit.

Randy stared at his hands, unwilling to move before John was gone. He knew that they were right - all of them had been right. Every person who had tried to talk any sense into him had their points. But he wasn't ready to back down. He wasn't ready to change. And he wasn't ready to admit that he could, maybe, possibly, slightly be a little bit wrong.

"Listen, Orton," John stated as he fished his car keys out of his bag. "You and me are boys, okay? You know you're like the brother I sometimes wish I could give back, and I want to see you succeed," he shrugged. "But you gotta want it, too, man. So if you want to leave because it's time for you to get out of the game and you seriously believe it's the right thing for you? I got your back, man." His eyes were intense as his shoulders sagged in slight defeat. "But if you're hiding? Pouting while shit you have no control over takes over every part of your life? I can't watch that."

If he had been willing to listen to anything John had said, the time was over. With defenses firmly in place, Randy shrugged and took another drink. "Then don't."


	3. It's NOT About You

**Say Anything**

**A/N: I know the updates for this story have been slow, so thanks for your patience, guys. I appreciate it. I wasn't sure how many chapters this was going to be, but since they say Orton will be back in action on June 13th, I'm thinking there might only be one more installment to this story. We'll see, but for now, Enjoy!

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"Jesus Christ," Randy sighed as he opened the door to his St. Louis condo. "Ya know, if you guys want me to spend some time thinking about what I've done, you should probably leave me alone for a day or two," he spat. As Dave pushed past him, he shut the door and rolled his eyes. "Should I even ask what you're doing here?"

Dave shrugged and put his hands on his hips. "This isn't a social call," he gritted his teeth.

"Yeah? So you're here on business? Vince has you doin' his dirty work now? What? Hunter got bored?" Randy asked with a cocky smirk, making his way to the couch. When Dave said nothing, Randy sank to the couch and put his feet up on the ottoman. "Alright," he said as he made himself comfortable. "Lay it on me, man."

There was a part of Dave that wanted to slap the smirk right off of Randy's face. But he was more mature than that, more professional. "I don't want to come at you, Orton. I don't want to clench my fists and grit my teeth and pretend that I'm going to kick your ass because we both know I won't."

"And we both know Trish would kick yours if you touch me," Randy prodded, knowing the real reason for Dave's visit without him having to say a word. The barb seemed to touch a nerve, but Dave was trying desparately to conceal the emotion. "Motherfucker, who do you think you're fooling?" Randy asked with a chuckle. "You forget I know you better than that."

"You used to know me," Dave said quietly, lowering himself to the chair across from Randy.

Though he said nothing more, Randy rolled his eyes again and shifted his weight from one hip to the other on the couch. Other than John, Dave had probably been his best friend once upon a time. But that was before he had ruined Randy's life. If there was anyone to blame in this situation, it was probably Dave.

"Everyone keeps asking me what happened to me," Randy laughed slightly. "What I wanna know is what the fuck happened to you, man?"

Sinking back into the chair, Dave didn't hesitate. "I grew up," he said. "And since we both know you don't want any other life but this one, I suggest you do likewise. Stop whining like a little bitch and start acting like a man," he advised pointedly. When Randy didn't respond, Dave shrugged. "You don't wanna talk to me about it, fine. I'm not gonna overstay my welcome." His eyes were sincere when Randy finally looked at him. "We coulda had one hell of a feud, Orton."

Everyone said that talking to the kid was like talking to a wall, but Dave had truly believed that he could break through the defenses and get some honest answers. Even Trish had told him it was hopeless, but Dave refused to believe it. Surely his former roommate and Evolution member would listen to him. They were more than friends. They had practically been brothers.

As he began to walk toward the front door, Dave racked his brain for something brilliant to say, something that would change everything. But no inspired words of brilliant encouragement came to him. He knew, especially now that he had seen Randy's hardened gaze and his apathetic body language, that the kid was too far gone. It was over.

There was no more Legend Killer. Only a spoiled brat named Randy Orton.

"How could you do it, man?" Randy's deep baritone stopped Dave cold by the front door.

Turning slightly, Dave felt his shoulders sag. For months, he had considered himself lucky that they hadn't had this discussion. He had convinced himself that not having it meant that Randy was cool with everything. Clearly, he had been wrong.

"How could I do what?" he asked, his voice dripping with exhaustion as he turned and leaned his massive shoulder to the wall. "How could I ask the most beautiful woman in the world to have dinner with me? How could I fall in love with the most caring, intelligent, witty, compassionate soul I've ever met? How could I ask the woman I love more than my own life to marry me?"

Randy rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he knew exactly how Dave could have done it. He knew because he had been ready to do the same damn thing. "Okay, drama queen," he said sarcastically, leaning in the kitchen doorway, his eyes trained on the man before him. "You knew, Dave. Man, you knew how I felt about her. How could you do that to me?"

Dave took a moment to consider Randy. He wanted to run with the big boys, wanted so badly to be considered one of them. But he was still just a kid in a lot of ways. There were still so many things about life he needed to learn, things he needed to experience. Trying to explain everything was impossible, so Dave shrugged. "I don't know, man."

"You don't know?" Randy laughed incredulously. "What the fuck kind of answer is that?"

"I saw you and Trish dancing around each other for three years, Orton. You wanted each other, but even when we told you guys to go for it, you wouldn't budge. You refused, said it wouldn't work, denied it." Dave spoke as if he was trying to remind Randy of the events that had led them here. "I kept my distance for a long fucking time, Orton. I gave you three years of opportunities to make your move. The door was open to you, and you didn't walk through.

"You keep asking how we could do this to you. But everything in life is not about you, dammit. You want honesty, man? When I'm with Trish, I'm not thinking about you. I know that probably kills you inside, but you are not the center of the universe, Orton. Everything in this world does not revolve around you and your feelings."

The tone in Dave's voice made Randy feel as though he had just been grounded by his father. His eyes drifted to the floor as he tried to think of some sort of retort. There had to be some smart-ass, snappy reply to the information that Dave had just layed on him.

But if there was, Randy couldn't find it. He was right. The big back-stabbing lug was right. Randy had innumerable opportunities to further his relationship with Trish, and he had never taken them. He had never stepped out of the comfortable bubble they were living in to try and make something else happen. He had been too scared, to cowardly, to take the life he wanted. So someone else had taken it out from under him.

With a slight chuckle, he felt his shoulders rise and fall. Still staring at an imaginary spot on the floor, he said, "You wanna know why?" he asked, almost to himself. "Why I didn't contest the suspension? Why I didn't throw a bitch fit when they asked me to leave?"

Steeling himself for the typical Orton "It's not my fault the world is always against me because I'm beautiful and talented and deserve to get everything I want" speech, Dave crossed his arms. "Because you wanted to hide from the things that make you uncomfortable?" he prodded. Though he knew it was wrong, Dave couldn't resist pushing another button or two. Orton was kinda funny when his face turned all red.

But Randy wasn't fighting back. When he raised his eyes, they were filled with sadness and pain. "Everyone thinks I'm hiding. I wish it was that simple," he said, sincerity in his words. "I just want some peace. I want to wake up in the morning and not hear Trish's name. I want to walk out the front door and not worry about seeing her, or someone who looks like her. I want a whole day without listening to someone talk about how beautiful she looks on this magazine, or about how great she was in that match.

"It's like I can't be around her without wanting to touch her, but I can't touch her because she's yours now. And I can't not be around her without losing my mind because she's been my fucking sanity for so damn long that without her I feel lost." He was pacing the floor, talking to himself, though he knew Dave was listening carefully. Months of keeping his feelings bottled up seemed to be breaking as he vented. "I thought that a couple months away from the business would help me clear my head. Give me some more time with Sam. It would make things better. Easier."

"But it didn't work."

Turning, Randy met his friend's eye and realized there was no point in lying anymore. "Even when she's not here, she's here. She's in my head. She's in every woman I see at the grocery store or the mall. She's just everywhere. And I don't want her there, but she won't get out of my head." He ran a hand over his hair and let out a long, dramatic sigh. "I just want some peace."

There was a moment of silence as Dave attempted to gather his thoughts. He knew that Randy was trying to express himself, but he also knew that there were some flaws in the kid's logic. "Look, Orton, you know I love you like a brother, right?" Randy shrugged. "I hope you find that peace you're looking for, man. I really do hope you find some happiness. But I don't think you're gonna find it without Trish, or with Sam."

Randy's blue eyes grew wide. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Dave shook his head. "Hell no, I'm not handing Trish over to you, motherfucker," he chuckled slightly when Randy's shoulders sagged once more. "What I'm saying, Randy, is that you have to find the peace for yourself. If you don't have it in here," Dave poked Randy's chest with his index finger, "then nobody else is ever going to give it to you."

Another silence followed as Randy processed Dave's words. When he finally licked his lips to speak, he just nodded and walked toward the entry. "Thanks for stopping by, man," Randy said, leaning against the open door.

With another shake of his head, Dave moved past Randy and onto the front porch. He had no way of knowing if his words had made a difference. There was a good possibility that Orton would close that door and forget everything they had just talked about.

Either way, he knew that Trish was with the right man now. Orton had issues that went so far beyond Trish Stratus, so far beyond every one of them. And even if he didn't accept it, Dave knew that Randy was going to have to resolve things for himself before he was any good to any of them, personally or profesionally.


	4. It's NOT Over Yet

**Say Anything**

**A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it got a little bit long, so I'm splitting it in half. Since this story was originally only supposed to be a OneShot, I'm surprised I managed five chapters out of it. But when Orton returned Monday night, I decided that the story about his suspension should end when the actual 60 days did. So one more chapter and this one's over. Thanks for your support. You guys really are the best. Enjoy!

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After Dave had visited Randy, there was an unspoken rule amongst their circle of friends. Orton chose his own future and trying to help him any further was pointless. So they didn't mention him. If any of them had talked to him in the last sixty days, no one was admitting it. And they moved on with their lives as though he had never really crossed their paths in the first place.

"What do you think of hydrangeas?" Trish asked as she walked through the parking lot of the arena in Pittsburgh, one hand clutching Dave's as the other held her bag over her shoulder.

Raising an eyebrow, Dave looked over the cars in the lot. "I don't know. What's a hydrangea?"

"What about lillies?" Trish changed directions, gripping Dave's hand a little tighter. "Lillies are so pretty."

With a laugh, Dave wrapped his arm around his fiancee's waist. If he had to hear one more question about the wedding, he was going to lose his mind. He loved her, and he couldn't wait to be her husband. But eloping was looking like a more and more viable option.

"Or we could do daisies. Daisies are beautiful and summer-y," Trish continued to prattle on as they walked closer to the building.

"Trisha, look," Dave stopped, firmly placing both of his hands on Trish's shoulders. "I know what roses look like, okay? So if you want roses, I like the red ones. Otherwise?" He put a finger under her chin and shook his head as he spoke. "Don't know. Don't care."

Reaching for her hand again, he intended to walk toward the building. But Trish wouldn't budge as she dropped her duffle bag to the ground and dug around inside. "We're settling the flower issue right now, buddy," she threatened, hoisting a large catalog into her arms.

The tattered book had obviously been perused more than once. And the Post-It notes, hotel paper, napkins, and fast food wrappers used as book marks sent a tremor of fear up Dave's spine. "What is that?"

"That, my naive friend," a voice sounded behind him as Hunter slung an arm over his shoulder, "is the infamous Bridal Bible." He slapped his friend on the back and then bumped him with his shoulder. "And it looks like you're about to get a nice, long sermon by the presiding Reverend Stratus."

"But I'm Buddhist," Dave stated numbly, his eyes on the ground as the image of that massive catalog stuck in his brain.

Hunter laughed. "Not in a month, man. In a month, you'll be part of a whole new religion. You'll be married. Again. And you thought you left that church behind."

Trish rolled her eyes and fought the urge to smack him. As it turned out, she didn't have to when Stephanie's hand found the back of her husband's neck. "It is not that bad," she insisted, her free hand resting on her protruding belly as her husband took her hand and smiled.

As they approached the building, Stephanie bent closer to Trish, giggling and nodding over a picture in the book while Dave and Hunter tried to ignore their giddy wives. Between the wedding and the baby, they feared they might be in danger of an estrogen overload.

"Ooooh, hydrangeas!" Maria's squealing voice sounded as she approached the group from behind and fell into step with Stephanie and Trish.

"What the fuck's a hide-a . . . what's it called?" John asked, greeting his friends with the standard "guy" nod.

Maria playfully smacked his arm. "It's a flower, dumbass," she informed him.

John rolled his eyes and slung an arm over his girlfriend's shoulder as the group entered the arena and walked, en masse, toward the locker rooms.

"It's this flower," Trish pointed to the picture in the book. "And doesn't it look perfect with this dress? I'm thinking coral. For you guys?"

Stephanie and Maria started to comment until Hunter reached over and grabbed the magazine, closing it and holding it behind his back as he walked. "Enough with the fucking wedding. For months now, that's all we've heard. No more wedding talk."

Rolling her eyes, Trish narrowed her eyes. She really didn't have a problem with Hunter, but sometimes he knew how to take all the fun out of planning a wedding. "So what should we talk about, Oh Wise One?"

Turning his back, Hunter pushed the door of the locker room open and shrugged his shoulders, raising an eyebrow at the firey little blonde. "I don't know. Sports? Politics? Business? Sexually Transmitted Diseases? Bird Flu? War? Any fucking thing besides that damn wedding," he smiled a saccharine grin.

"Orton," Maria said flatly.

"Okay, so not _ANY_thing," Hunter began to correct himself until Stephanie pointed to something over his shoulder. Turning on his heel, he saw what had rendered the rest of the group speechless. Back in a WWE locker room for the first time in 60 days, the prodigal had returned. And it seemed that Hunter wasn't the only one who didn't know how to react.

After a long moment of silence, Randy flinched and then shook his head, dropping his bag and pushing past the crowd of his friends in the doorway. He walked quickly down the hallway, his footsteps fading as he moved further and further from them once again.

Dave instinctually reached for Trish's hand, but cringed when she turned to look at the door. Glancing back at him, she said nothing before rushing out the door after her former friend and almost lover. There was a part of him that wanted to insist that she couldn't help him anymore, but he had seen that look in her eyes. The one that said she wasn't giving up until she made some progress.

"Want me to go talk to him?" Hunter asked. He had no idea what he would say to the kid, but he knew that there was nothing his friend wanted more than to keep his fiancee away from the man who wanted her more than his own career.

Shaking his head, Dave moved into the locker room and made himself at home. If this was something Trish felt she needed to do, he would let her. He just hoped there would still be a stupid wedding to plan when she was done.


	5. It's NOT Going To Be The Same

**Say Anything**

**A/N: Here you go, Kids - the ending to Say Anything. This story originally began as a OneShot in response to Randy's suspension back in April. And I know the updates were few and far between, but knowing that you all found it realistic and emotional means a lot to me. It was a little different for me to write something so closely based on true events - and you all know that I'm in no way submitting this as the real reason behind the madness. I'm not even going to insult you by disclaiming that. Thanks for all of your reviews - and I hope you enjoy!

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_Now, I know a six and a half foot tall man does not just disappear into thin air_, Trish told herself as she scoured the backstage area of the arena. He had about a 90 second head start, and while he was athletic, Trish knew he didn't move that fast unless he was trying to get away. And she would be damned if she let him get away from her.

For nearly five years, he had been preying on her mind. Whether she was thinking about him as a friend, a lover, or something else, he was always there. She had decided nearly a year earlier that he belonged in the remotest corner of her mind, like an old trinket she kept for its sentimental value, but on which she never really concentrated.

And then the suspension. If what her friends were speculating was actually true, then Randy's plan was working splendidly. If his goal was, in fact, to make her think about him again, to cause her to obsess over him as much as he claimed to pine for her, then he was a master of mental control. Since she had visited his home nearly two months earlier, he was all she could think about.

The whoosh of a door opening in the distance caught her attention and Trish turned just in time to see Randy exiting the building. A familiar sense of irritation flaired in her chest. He was not running away from her again. Not if she had anything to say about it.

He was wrestling his red duffle bag into the trunk of his car when Trish finally caught up to him. "No way, Orton! I am not letting you turn your back on all of the people who actually give a damn about you. Not again." He stopped what he was doing, but said nothing as Trish continued her rant. "Congratulations, you're back. And that's great. But you are not going to continue punishing me by running away everytime things get a little awkward."

Randy tilted his head and blinked. "Are you done?"

"No, I'm not done!" Trish shouted, running a hand over her head as she tried to organize all of the thoughts that had been swirling through her brain since that day at his house. "I understand that this is going to be hard for you, Orton. I understand that you think you loved me or whatever. I know that we were on the verge of a really great thing, but we let it get away, and I'm sorry about that. But it's over now. I love Dave. I'm marrying Dave. And I'm glad your back, but you can't just run around pouting every time you don't get your way!"

"Not running away," he said simply, taking a black bag from the trunk and slamming it shut. "Got the wrong bag."

"Oh," Trish whispered, biting her lip and giving him a nervous smile. "Ha ha," her weak laughter faded as she blushed a little bit.

With a sarcastic nod, Randy pocketed his keys. "Yeah, so are we done here?"

She watched as he headed back toward the building and tried to figure out which conflicting voice to listen to. "Randy," she called out. When he turned a blank expression back to her, she sighed and walked toward him, her hands on her hips. "I don't want it to be like this."

As he watched her approaching, Randy felt the heaviness in his chest once again. When Vince had informed him that he would be returning to Raw, he knew he could no longer avoid her. He would have to deal with Trish Stratus head on. "Like what?" he asked, his eyes holding an apathy that he couldn't cover anymore.

"You know," Trish pleaded with him to understand. There had to be a trace of her old friend in there somewhere. "Like this, with us," she motioned between them. "Awkward. Strange. Uncomfortable."

"What do you want, Trish?" Randy finally asked, the final straw breaking within him. He had fought for too long. "You wanna hang in my hotel room tonight and watch bad action movies? Chill at the club for awhile? What the fuck do you want from me?"

The sheer pain in his voice took her back a step. Though she wasn't sure why, she hadn't expected him to lash out at her. Convincing herself that his return meant a change of heart, she was sure she could get through to him. "We're on the same team," she explained, searching her brain for the right thing to say. "We have to co-exist here."

Randy nodded. "I know that," he assured her. "It's not gonna be like it was, okay? I'm not gonna stalk you. And I'm not gonna take my frustrations out on Dave, or Hunter, or John, or anybody. No stiff bumps in the ring. No snide remarks in the hallways. I'm just here to work, okay?" He shrugged and tightened his grip on the bag in his hand, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. "I'll keep my comments and my hands to myself and everyone will live happily ever after."

"That's not what I meant," Trish snapped back.

"Isn't it?"

She thought about it. It wasn't what she meant. Though he had been known to do those things in the past, she had never really assumed that he would do them again. It went beyond his professional interaction. She could actually give a fuck less what the Legend Killer did. This was about saving Randy, and their friendship. "We used to be friends," she whispered, moving closer to him. "I miss that."

"Ya know," Randy started, rolling his neck as he stepped away, as though unloading whatever had been on his mind for months. "Everyone keeps telling me to grow up. I need to realize that I can't always have what I want, right?"

And Trish felt her defenses going back up. He hadn't changed at all. He wasn't the man she thought he might be. "Oh, stop pouting," she scolded, rolling her eyes. She was in no mood for the Orton "Everyone Hates Me" Fest.

But Randy reached out and grabbed her arm. "No," he demanded as she turned a surprised look to him. "Stop talking to me like I'm the fucked up one here," he said, letting go of her. "You and your band of merry men have told me to grow up and get over it for the last two months. You've told me that life doesn't always give us what we want. That we have to learn to live with disappointment. All of you have made it pretty fucking clear that complaining isn't going to change shit. But apparently it's a pretty bitter pill when I shove it back down your throat, huh?

"I'll be honest with you, Trish. I don't really fucking care if you still wanna be friends. I'm not back because I'm okay with everything that happened between us. I'm not back because I'm ready to kiss and make up. I'm here because I love my career and I'm not ready to let go of it yet." He stared at her for another moment, daring her to respond. Though he hadn't intended to say anything at all, he found that unburdening his soul felt pretty damn good.

Trish shook her head, her hands on her hips once more. "So what? You're just gonna run around like a pissed off son of a bitch for the rest of your life? Turn your back on all of us who have spent the last two months worried about you? Is that the plan?"

Shrugging, he sighed and gave her an expression of bone-chilling sincerity. "I don't know," he said finally. "I don't really have a game plan. I just kinda figure I'll show up and do what it is I love to do. I'll go out there and put on a hell of a show. I'll travel to the next city, hit the gym, and do it all over again.

"Maybe somewhere along the way, I'll stop seeing you as the woman who broke my heart and start to see you as someone I could be friends with. Or, I don't know, maybe I'll stop seeing Dave as a back-stabbing motherfucker who took the most important thing in the world away from me, and start seeing a pretty fucking cool guy who's pretty damn funny when he's not even trying to be." He relaxed his grip on the bag in his hand and turned back toward the building, noting that Trish had fallen in to step with him.

She was too busy processing her thoughts to answer him. He was back, and it was clear that he was a new man. Unfortunately, he wasn't the new man she wanted him to be. And reconciling that information was going to take longer than a walk through the parking lot.

"I haven't forgotten who we were, Trish," he assured her as he pulled the heavy door open. When she stepped through it, he followed. "But that's not who we are now." When he stopped, she turned and looked into his eyes again. "Maybe we'll be friends again someday. Anything's possible, I guess." With a shrug, he turned toward the locker room again. "It's just not gonna happen right now."

Long after he had disappeared from sight, Trish stood still, trying to grasp everything he had said. If his suspension was intended as a wake up call, it had served its purpose well. She just wasn't sure who had been awakened.

He had been her best friend, once upon a time. They had laughed and cried together. They had vented each other's defeats, and celebrated each other's victories. They had offered advice, and always, whether the advice was taken or not, they offered unconditional support. There was a time when Randy's was the most steady shoulder she had to lean on.

Maybe that time was over. Maybe life wasn't the fairy tale either of them wanted it to be. But if he realized that doing what he loved was more important than the disillusionment of growing up, then she had to support that. And if she had to step out of the way to be supportive, she would.

"I take it that didn't go well?" Dave's voice was soft in her ear as his arms wrapped around her waist.

She shook her head and leaned back against his chest. "Actually, I think he might be alright after all," she sighed, turning and smiling up at the man who would be her husband in a few short weeks. "Come on," she tugged at his hand. "Let's go talk about seating arrangements for the reception."


End file.
